


The Story of Jimi the Smith

by Mab (Mab_Browne)



Series: The Children of Cascade [4]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, M/M, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-16
Updated: 2011-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-17 01:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mab_Browne/pseuds/Mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair is settled in his life on Cascade, but there are still things that bother him.  Fourth story in the AU SF series, The Children of Cascade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Story of Jimi the Smith

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story for the Moonridge Charity in 2010. Thank you to the people who donated. This story is the fourth, and probably last, story in The Children of Cascade series.
> 
> Thank you also to Jane Davitt for the beta she did. :-)

Blair smiled at the new concierge in the downstairs foyer and received a warily respectful nod, before he decided that tonight was an elevator night. The presence of the two agents still flanking him encouraged Blair to retain the correct posture of a respected agency director as he waited for the car but as soon as the door closed behind him and his security detail he leaned his head back against the shiny mirrored wall, and sighed in exhaustion.

"Stupid," he muttered. "Let it go, Sandburg. Deep breaths." One hand held a capacious and rather luxurious satchel. Blair's other hand was clenched, until he slowly released it, stretching and flexing his fingers. "Have to watch that," he said as he exited the elevator. "And stop talking to myself," he added, fishing in his pocket for his keys, and smiling at the woman patrolling the hall of that floor. He reached his door, his shut door, which surprisingly and disappointingly didn't open for him. Getting his keys out was a ritual, but all too often he didn't need them. He'd thought that Jim was already home.

Opening the door all by himself and stepping inside the foyer, Blair heard the murmur of Jim's voice coming from the living area. Visitors, or a call. Blair dumped the satchel in his study and was wondering whether a shower would improve his mood when Jim spoke his name and Blair turned to see him in the doorway.

"Blair. Come and talk to Grace. I'm just not good enough." Jim clearly didn't take any offense at that - his face was openly amused.

"Grace?" Blair grinned, his mood lifting somewhat. Jim's smile, and the thought of his niece, could do that. "Okay," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Can't keep my girl waiting."

He made his way to the living area and sat down in front of the screen on the immaculate desk. Blair's study was organised around what Blair considered practical principles. This space was Jim's.

"Hey there," he said. Grace smiled out of the screen at him, a gap on one side of her mouth where she'd lost yet another baby tooth.

"Where have you been?" she demanded. Serayne's voice rose reprovingly off-screen, and Grace instantly became contrite. "I'm sorry. But I wanted to tell you something, and Mama said it would be okay."

"Sure, sweetie. What did you want to tell me?"

"Teacher put _my_ picture up on the wall this week."

"That's great. I guess Teacher really liked your picture."

"I drew a picture of Jimi."

For a moment, Blair wondered if that was some pet name for Jim, until Jim said out of the side of his mouth, "Jimi the Smith. You remember?" Blair nodded, only partly recalling the reference.

"I drew Jimi helping build the bridge, and I made the bridge brown and the river green. And Hela Marcus laughed at me because that meant that the river sentinel's hair had to be green, and she said that nobody has green hair, but I didn't hit her."

Blair's face twitched. Even though he was out of sight of the screen, Jim reflexively covered his face with his palm, a gesture that did nothing to hide his broad grin. "That was good self-control, Grace. I'm glad that you didn't hit anyone, even if they were being annoying."

Serayne's face came into screen-shot, as she spoke softly into Grace's ear. "I have to go. Love you, uncle."

"Love you too, Grace."

"Night." With that, Grace was gone.

Serayne smiled at her brother. "You're late home. And you look tired."

"You look lovely, if rather inquisitive," Blair retorted. "Important people like me always work late."

"The work doesn't matter if you love it," Serayne said. Her own face looked happy, despite the circumstances.

"So, how's it all working out?" Blair asked.

"Surprisingly well. Adayna Wills is a truly inspiring choreographer, so I'm not having any trouble looking on the bright side. Grace adores the troupe teacher here. It's okay."

"And one day soon it might be safe for you to be on the same continent as me."

"Oh, Blair. Don't. A few crazy people aren't your fault."

"I know, I know." At Serayne's lifted eyebrow, Blair repeated, "I _know_. Don't look at me like that, okay?"

"And how should I look at you?"

Blair leaned back in his seat and smirked. "Respectfully of course." A vulgar sound came from Jim's direction, and Blair's hand lifted in a gesture that was just as vulgar.

Serayne laughed. "You need us to be totally disrespectful, oh Child." She sobered. "How are things going at your end?"

"Still hip-deep in security. And smothered by an over-protective Jim as well. I can't sniff without people making a log entry."

"Jim is not being over-protective," Serayne said, and then looked slightly abashed.

"I see. You two had a nice long chat before I got home."

"You shouldn't work such long hours then." Serayne's gaze shifted from Blair for a moment. "I should go. Time is money, especially vid time."

Blair lifted an eyebrow that was meant to inform his sister that her timing was less than subtle. "Yeah. Let us know how things go for you. Tell me if Grace has any more ideas that her friends think are weird. I take comfort in that. I feel like I've indirectly contributed something to her upbringing."

"Idiot," Serayne said fondly, and cut the connection.

Blair turned to face Jim, and stretched his legs out in front of him. "I have enough people allying themselves against me without you two." He was only slightly annoyed. They were his family and they loved him, after all.

Jim stood and bent to kiss Blair on the hairline just above his temple. "We're allying for the sake of our own sanity. Who else am I going to complain to about you?"

Blair wrapped his arm around Jim's waist. "And it's not like Serayne is going to complain to _me_ about the way her life's just been turned upside down, because she is way too nice a person."

"Self-deprecation. Unnecessary guilt." Jim's voice became less joking, more determined. "You aren't responsible for other people's stupid actions." His arms, strong arms, rested gently around Blair's shoulders for a moment before he straightened. "I'm getting too old to stoop like that unless there's sex in the offing. You want something to eat?"

Blair considered that. The brief lift from the talk with Serayne and Grace was fading, and he felt tired again. He could still inspire awe with his energy and concentration, but it cost more these days to turn on the show. "Something small?" He stood also, and headed towards their kitchen. "What have we got?"

Jim followed behind him and leaned on the counter while Blair considered the options in the cold store. "It works better when the door is shut," Jim suggested, which was when Blair realised that there wasn't really anything that tempted him and he'd been just looking for too long.

"Tea," he said. "That will have to do." He set out the teapot, a red teapot for his favourite tea, put water to boiling, and found the canister. Jim stayed leaning against the counter, watching Blair. "You're going to be asked to redo some of the resources for the off-world orientation," Blair said.

Were there the slightest signs of increased alertness in Jim? "Yes, that's right. I'm not going to be doing it on my own, but I have co-ordination and veto options."

"We'll be working together on it."

"That's great. I'm not going to grumble about the chance of seeing more of you."

"That's definitely a plus." And it was. He and Jim had done a few projects together for the FC over the years, and they'd worked well together. "The FC is taking me to its bosom in a big way - they've raised my security clearance."

"I'd have thought that was a good thing. You don't look that happy about it."

"Oh, in some ways it's great. It's a benchmark - trust, influence." Blair stroked his finger along the cane-covered handle of the teapot. "But one of the first files across my desk marking my new trustworthiness was some background info for your project, and it just...." Blair stopped. "It disturbed me, in a way which I totally get is stupid and unnecessary, but it took the shine off the day."

Jim was silent - a listening silence, and no doubt his highly refined senses were cataloguing everything about Blair's physical reactions. Blair had occasional moments of envy over those heightened senses, but now he just felt irritation. "I got to see the stats on the loss of agents in the field. Including what the file calls defections."

"Ah."

"And that would be as noncommittal a noise as I've ever heard out of you, and you're not exactly a noncommittal person, Jim."

Jim had crossed his arms. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't think you should say _anything_! Which isn't quite correct..." Blair turned around, the tea and the kettle forgotten. "I think you should totally say something other than a dumb 'ah', but I'm not exactly planning on being prescriptive about the subject matter!"

"Oh, for..." Jim swallowed whatever words he was going to say. His arms were still crossed and his head was bowed in hard thinking, before he lifted it and spoke. "So what - exactly - disturbed you?"

"What disturbed me," Blair muttered. "Oh, that's funny. That's funny, Jim. Here's Blair Sandburg, mainly inoffensive academic, living his own life, tracked down and kidnapped to keep Cascade's gene pool safely, symbolically contained, never mind the kids you lost to the slaver attacks, never mind the admittedly very small but steady attrition of FC agents who get seduced by the wicked world off of Cascade. What the fuck made me so special that they just couldn't leave me the hell _alone_?" The last sentence was shouted. Their apartment was built to be as private and secure as Cascade sentinel abilities permitted, and there was still every chance that this conversation wouldn't remain private.

Jim hunched his shoulders, against unpleasant noise or unpleasant emotions. "You know as much as anybody does about the Return. You've obsessed enough over the records."

"I doubt very much that I know as much as 'anybody'," Blair shot back. "And if I'm obsessed then I have every damn right. Every damn right, Jim!"

"I never said you didn't."

"But you'd rather that I didn't talk too much about this, wouldn't you?"

"You can talk about it if you want to. But I'm not likely to hold a neutral point of view, or one that you'll approve of in this mood." Jim's voice was clipped. There was a muscle twitching at the side of his jaw. Blair knew that was always a bad sign, and didn't much care.

"Hey, you've done without my approval before, you can do without it this time around," Blair said venomously.

"The kettle is boiling," Jim said, and with a curse Blair pivoted to turn the damn thing off, because he didn't want any damn tea, and he was just about damn near ready to either cry or scream anyway - especially when he turned around again and saw that Jim had left the kitchen. A door, the solid exterior door between the foyer and the main hallway, slammed. Blair bet that if he'd been a sentinel he'd have felt the shock wave.

"Fuck. Damn it. Shit!" Blair covered his face with his hands before he dragged them down again, staring blindly at the wall with his fingers pressed against his chin. He took a shower, short and far too hot, before scraping his wet hair back into a rough queue, and then he sat naked and cross-legged on the floor of the bedroom and tried to meditate. It was difficult, and eventually he turned around, since the empty bed seemed oddly accusing. That didn't work either, and he found himself rocking gently in his sit, head bowed, and his face covered with his hands.

"Okay. Okay," he murmured. "It's not as if I don't know why that turned to shit. And the obvious way to at least start fixing it is to put on some clothes and see if Jim's where I think he is." He stood and pulled on some clothes, layered against the cool night air, and then grabbed his keys and went out into the hallway. The woman, he'd forgotten her name and that annoyed him too, smiled pleasantly but stood implacably in his path.

"Blair Sandburg. I've had no advice as to your plans."

"The roof. That's all."

She was well-trained, but she couldn't help the look of slightly embarrassed awareness that crossed her face. "Yes. Of course." Blair smiled at her - at least, his face muscles made the correct movements - and he made for the stairwell. Yes, their apartment was provided with high quality soundproofing, but his security detail was provided with high quality listening equipment. The woman, Laing, that was her name, stationed herself at the base of the stairwell behind Blair as he climbed to the roof.

The roof was very serene. On the highest building for some blocks, it was well above the street noise, and set out with expensive container gardens, carefully lit at this time of night. Jim was leaning against the parapet, looking up at the sky. The city lights drowned some of the starscape, but the nearer, brighter stars showed clear.

Blair cleared his throat. Jim knew he was there, had probably known he was coming from the moment that Blair set foot in the stairwell, but Blair wanted to make his presence official. "Hey."

"Blair."

"How hard are you listening?"

"Hard enough. I'm looking hard enough, too." Jim lowered his head to look at the city but he still wasn't looking at Blair, who joined him to lean against the parapet.

"And that's another thing that bothers me. I've been reading about hyper-alertness and it's not something that's good for you."

"It's not good for the average sentinel. I'm not average, and if I can check our safety for myself my stress hormones will be a whole lot less elevated. Deal with it."

The parapet was high, and Blair dropped his head to lean against his arms for a moment. "I'd call you out on that stubborn, uncompromising thing, but that would be hypocrisy."

"Yeah." Blair had hoped to hear some small thread of humour in Jim's voice, but there was only a flat acknowledgement.

"I kind of lost it there," Blair said apologetically.

"You wouldn't be hypocritical to call _me_ uncompromising. You've adjusted so well that I forget sometimes....." Jim looked at Blair then, and Blair was shocked by how miserable Jim looked. His vigil outside had done nothing to calm the sharper emotions of their quarrel. "I'm happy to forget."

"Oh, god. Don't. Don't, please." Blair almost threw himself at Jim, who received him with an embrace so fervent it smacked of desperation. "I - you're the person I talk to, about everything. And then when you don't want to talk I get so damn pissed off. Who else am I going to trust with this stuff, huh? Who else?" He attempted to both squeeze and shake Jim at the same time.

"I got to keep my home and my people - and you, and we all forget what it cost."

"It's okay. Most of the time I'm fine, you know that. I get weird about it occasionally, and I am not saying that I shouldn't, but most of the time I'm fine. I'm _happy_." Blair addressed his words to Jim's neck, since that was where his face was jammed.

"Yes, I know," Jim said softly. "But some of the time you're not, and I don't want to hear it because I can't be sorry that you're here. I can't."

They stood there, mashed together, touch any old way more important than physical comfort, while Blair inhaled Jim's familiar scent - the fabric of his clothes, the subtle scent of the toiletries he used, the edge of sweat at the end of the day. He pulled back after a while, enough that he could see Jim's face.

"So, you were never tempted?"

Jim frowned in confusion before his eyes widened in surprised horror. "Defect, you mean? Leave Cascade forever?" Then something like shame crossed his face. "No."

Blair thought he understood the shame. "It's okay. Honestly."

Jim forged on, confirming Blair's suspicions. "You never asked me to help you to get away. Not after the Vigilance."

That brought a flash of half-forgotten memories for Blair - the small, immaculate ship and its tiny hydroponics unit, and Jim bent over the leaves of a plant, zoned, unaware that the two of them were in the first stages of bonding. It was thirteen, nearly fourteen years ago, and they both still carried their own weights of bitterness.

Blair tried to lighten the weight with a smile. "No, I didn't, did I? Guess I knew you well enough even then to know the answer." Cared enough even then to not want to hear an answer that would have hurt.

"Stubborn and uncompromising." The words were grim.

"It's okay." Blair lifted himself on his toes so that he could kiss Jim, a peck to the lips. "I like you that way."

"That's my good fortune," Jim said, with enough dry humour to make Blair smile in return.

"Tell me something?" Jim frowned at the request. "How antsy are our brave guardians getting?"

Jim raised his eyes to the night sky before he looked down at Blair again. "Antsy enough. And we should go inside anyway. You haven't eaten in a while, and you should."

"Smothered is what I told Serayne, and smothered is what I am."

Jim, his arm slung across Blair's shoulders, directed them both towards the stairwell. "And she had as much sympathy for you as I do."

"It's a hard life," Blair said mournfully, and then caught his errant tongue too late.

Jim gave no sign of being bothered by the thoughtless remark. Instead, his hand gripped more firmly around Blair's arm.

"You'll survive but you'll survive better with some food in you. I was half-expecting you to grab the stew in the kitchen. Has mala root in it."

"I could eat," Blair said, even if he suspected that he'd have to force himself.

"Good."

They made their way down the stairs, past Laing, and back into their home. The screen on Jim's desk took Blair's mind back to Grace and Serayne's call. "She's a sweetheart, our Grace."

Jim nodded assent, before he went to the kitchen and got the stew out of the cold store. "You can always tell the guide art and the sentinel art in the schools. Kids arguing that something doesn't look like that - it goes back generations. You want that tea now?"

It was Blair's turn to lean against the counter, as he watched Jim trying to soothe the raw edges between them with stew and tea.

"Yeah. Thanks."

Jim's movements in the kitchen were like all his physical endeavours - contained and efficient. Blair wondered if he might be able to loosen some of that containment later.

"I'm trying to imagine you as a kid, now," Blair said. "Talking about school. You don't have a lot of pictures from when you were young."

"I was too tall for my age and too gangly for everything. I didn't start building muscle until I was past eighteen." Jim looked up and smiled, and Blair caught a glimpse of that long-ago gangly, beanpole boy in his expression. "And I always felt weird about the story of Jimi the Smith."

"Yeah? Why?"

"Because Jimi's name was so like mine; and he walks away from people who want him, when it's a big thing to find your bond. Loners aren't usually admired, and one of our most well-known children's stories is about one." Jim shrugged, before he put the stew in the oven. His big, deft hands poured water into the teapot.

Blair nodded. He still couldn't remember the specifics of the story, but he could understand how Jim might have issues with it.

"It's a good story for you, though. You must have Jimi looking over your shoulder all the time."

"If you say so," Blair said. "But I can't remember the reference. Sorry."

"It's on the system in a dozen different versions. I'll find it for you." Blair's hand closed around the cup of tea that Jim handed to him. "Think you'll be hungry when the food's heated through? It should be ready by the time you finish your tea."

"Are you going to eat something with me?"

"Enough to keep you company."

Blair smiled. "That's all I'm asking."

***

 

The Story of Jimi the Smith

When we became our own people, we made our way to Cascade. But first, we had to decide who we were, and give ourselves names because the progenitors only let us have labels.

Some people searched the databases of our liberated ship, and they chose names because their ancestors might have had names like those. Some people chose names that reflected something they were good at, or wanted to be. And some people thought that because we were creating a new life for ourselves that we should make new names altogether, and they chose whatever sounds and words they liked.

Jimi the Smith (who was a guide) wanted to make things, and so after he chose his names he learned to shape metal and make tools.

When we reached Cascade some of us chose to stay with our ship and strip it down to make things to help us live in our new world, and some of us wandered off to explore and settle Cascade. At first Jimi stayed with the ship, but eventually he wondered what the rest of his new world looked like, and he made wheels, and a cart to rest on them, and he loaded his tools into his cart and he started walking.

Jimi walked for a long time, until he came to a river where some of us were building a bridge. Jimi made them some bolts. There was a sentinel there, a woman with broad, rough hands and hair the colour of river water on a clear day, and she wanted Jimi to stay with her, so that she could hear the song of the river more clearly. But Jimi knew that there was more of Cascade to see, and more things to build, so he told her goodbye, and he pushed his cart over the newly built bridge, and he kept on walking.

When Jimi had walked for a long time, he met a sentinel, a woman who called herself Weaver. Weaver wanted a better loom, and Jimi helped her make one. Weaver had eyes blue as the sky, and she found insects that made her thread blue as the sky too. She wanted Jimi to stay with her, so that she could better feel that her thread was even and see how well it took her dyes , but Jimi knew that he'd only seen the littlest part of Cascade, and he said goodbye and kept on walking.

When Jimi had walked for a long time, he met a sentinel, a man who grew crops and had skin brown as the earth his plants grew in, and this man wanted a plough. Jimi helped him make one that cut the straightest furrow you ever saw. The man wanted Jimi to stay with him, so that he could smell what the soil needed and taste the air to know when the rain was coming. But Jimi knew that there was still the whole of Cascade to be seen.

Jimi kept on walking, and sometimes he stopped and made things. He made things for himself, and he made things for other people, and he never stopped walking, and he never stopped making. And people say that if you make anything, especially something new, that Jimi will look over your shoulder, to see what you've done. He might even whisper in your ear, to tell you how to do it better.


End file.
